


Biding Time

by bluegreenduck



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegreenduck/pseuds/bluegreenduck
Summary: History AU, Captain Dannielle Tiberius did not expect her mandatory "vacation" escorting the new Grecian ambassador to France to be anything but meaningless dribble at best. France, however, had very different plans.
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extreme AU. Greece is still a booming empire. Rome will come, don't worry, but not right now. Greece and France are on good terms. This is pre-The Musketeers, focusing on a young Treville just beginning the Musketeers and why he is unmarried in the later years. Hopefully a type of slow burn.

Prologue

Wind buffeted her dull blond hair, the salt coarsening it to the point she was surprised it was more than straw at this point. Standing at the bow, she knew that the harbor she could see in the far distance would be their destination: France. After the weeks-long voyage with few stops, it was a sight for sore eyes. Quite literally, as the salty air made her eyes dry and itchy.

“Captain?”

She turned, facing the warrior who stood there, body relaxed but attentive.

“Yes, Agata?” She could not lie and say she did not particularly admire the young woman before her, the traditional armor fitting her rough attitude perfectly. Agata was a capable warrior, a fighter through and through, but she was also kind. It did not surprise her that Agata had been the one sent to alert her to any issue. The sea had made her disgruntled enough.

“Ambassador Chiron wishes to discuss your boarding plans, Captain.”

Ah. That was why they had sent her favored guard. 

She fought to keep her eyes from rolling, noting Agata’s bit lip as she tried not to chuckle at how annoyed she was sure to look. Ambassador Chiron had been keeping her on a tight leash, despite her status. She was half-sure the old man just wanted company, but the summons were grating on her patience. 

“Thank you. You are free to go back to, whatever it is you lot do,” she waved a hand, noting that Agata grinned at a particular comrade of hers. Tacitus. Of course. A wise choice, if she did say so, though it would mean one of them may be transferred to a different station, if they were not careful.

~~~

“Ah Captain, thank you for coming.”

Ambassador Chiron was a kind man, if a bit cryptic. She supposed that was more due to his tendency to follow Dionysis’s disciples and tenets, as the rounded belly indicated. His face, however, did not show it much, still slim even in his advancing age. His hair was still dark, though grey had long since begun to creep in above his ears and in his well-kept beard. His skin was pale, for a Greek, though it was more likely due being below deck so often, as his wheeled chair had a tendency to roll while on deck. Amusing as it was to consider him rolling off the deck, her cousin would probably be less than thrilled if she lost his ambassador before even reaching French shores. 

“You asked for me, Ambassador?”

“Please, Captain, if we are to be partners for this next year, Chiron will suffice.”

“You asked for me, Chiron?” She fought to keep her voice level and calm, her own temper at being trapped at sea for so long short. Land would do them all some good. 

“It is time we worked out what exactly needs to be done in France.”

Her heart sped up, and she fought down a smile. 

Finally. The real reason she was here.


	2. France

Chapter 1: France

Jean did not consider himself a particular man, had never considered himself as anything but inclusive to all. This Greek ambassador and his party, however? He was beginning to feel downright suspicious.

The ship had come into harbor, the design beautiful and elegant as the last ambassador’s ship had been. But they sat there, not even lowering a gang plank, only ropes connecting it to the harbor.

His men, as cool as they had habitually become, were starting to shift nervously. Still green. Though, Jean could not deny that the silent ship made even his skin crawl. 

He had to wonder why they were displaying this type of stall. Had something happened? Was it some show of superiority? They were allies, but tenuous ones at best. France had barely maintained good relations with both Rome and Greece. The two countries were near the brink of war on a good day, and France had somehow wound up in the middle, as had England and Spain.

The gangplank lowered with a clatter, making them all jump. Jean cursed himself and his men soundly, cursed their obvious newness to the field of elite forces. They were the King’s personal men, Mon Dieu.

A troop descended from the ship, the leader a short man, wearing light plate mail and a helmet sporting a tall blue fan. Their garb was otherwise simple: long white tunics with belts that held up a leather skirt, both just falling mid thigh. The exception was the shorter man, his tunic blue and richly embroidered. In the midst of them, a man was seated in a wheeled chair, his attendants pushing him along carefully. The ambassador. 

The last to descend off the plank was a young woman, perhaps a year or two younger than himself, with long blond hair and tanned skin, and her two attendants. She was admittedly plain of face, yet another young lady to grace the attention of the room. 

The guard stood at attention, allowing the chair bound man to approach, the young lady following closely. Still, Jean could not seem to shake the uneasiness in his gut.

~~~

She did not like this. 

France was...cloying, as if she had strolled into the perfumed room of a Turkish harem, if the concubines wore sewage instead of jasmine and cloves.

She could only imagine that the city was full of piss and another word her mother would have washed her mouth out for. She already missed the cool wind and beautiful, clean, cities where even the slums didn’t smell like overpopulation and rats. 

She huffed at the sailors and the ladies clad in garments that were obviously meant to be alluring. How anyone could proposition anyone when they were all covered in filth was beyond her. Even as a street child, she had cleaned herself in the river. 

But the soldiers who met their party, they were the most interesting bit of this new world. Clad in leather and dark blue cloaks with swords buckled at their hips, the men, all men, she noted, were relatively young. Rumor had said that the regiment of the King’s Musketeers was new and fresh, but just how young were these men? Even their captain looked to be only a few years older than her.

She wasn’t one to judge, but she had expected better from France.

“My lady?” the Frenchman, a shorter, relatively hawk-like man, interrupted her musings. She turned to him, all shy grace.

“Monsieur?” her French was passable, thanks to her mother, but it was not entirely faultless. She barely caught his next words.

“My name is Armand-Jean Treville. I will be heading your protection detail, working with your captain.”

“Why thank you, Captain Treville, I’m sure you and Captain Alexander will keep us all safe as can be.” She gestured to her “maids”. The women curtsied.

“And your name, miss?” 

She fought to keep her tone civil and quiet. Captain. She was a Captain. 

“Lady Dannielle Tiberius, cousin to his eminence Perseus Tiberius, emperor of Greece.”

Captain. She swallowed the word. Let Alexander use it in her stead. Let herself be downgraded and underestimated. The same could’ve been done in her armor. The same could’ve been done with her position firmly in place. After all the work she had done, she was once again downgraded to “Lady” and “simpering fool” without adieu. 

For the emperor. 

For the empress.

For the tiny prince in the cradle she had left to her best guards.

For them.

“Captain Treville? Would you please help me into the carriage? I feel a bit faint from our long voyage.”

She did indeed feel faint, but not from the voyage. The scents of refuse were not quite cloying enough to elicit such a response. No, it was not the voyage or the smells. It was merely the powder she was sure she had seen Ambassador Chiron slip into her drink on his last occasion of hospitality aboard the ship.

As she stepped forward, her legs gave out, only the quick work of Captain Treville saved her from spilling blood on the street. 

Foggy voices exclaimed above her, and she felt strong arms deposit her into the carriage before her mind left and she was rendered insensible.


End file.
